


Break Of Dawn

by MadeOfPeanutButter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadeOfPeanutButter/pseuds/MadeOfPeanutButter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The rest of the world is turning around you John. And guess what? You and I - we can outrun it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm American, so I apologize if my British terms are off. Enjoy the story, please and thank you!

Sherlock stared out the window, his bathrobe drawn loosely about his body, gray t-shirt hugging him. John had been outside for the longest time now, and Sherlock had been out to visit him thrice. He refused to come inside.

Even from the second floor, he could see John's bloodshot eyes.

He decided to try and persuade him a final time, pulling trench coat over his shoulders and grabbing an umbrella on his way out the door.

"Go away, Sherlock," John said monotonously when he heard the door shut. "I want to be alone."

Sherlock didn't say anything, just took a seat beside John, opening the umbrella and holding it over both their heads.

"Let's be alone, together, John," Sherlock said, putting a hand on the shoulder closest to him and giving a light squeeze. "After all, being lonely together is better than being lonely alone, correct?"

"If we were lonely together, we wouldn't be lonely."

"Exactly," Sherlock smirked, his eyes shifting to see if there was a change in John's expression. There was nothing.

"Go back inside, Sherlock," John insisted. "You're going to catch a cold."

"Speak for yourself," he said, taking one arm out of the coat and placing the fabric round his friend as best he could. "I understand you're mourning, but why be sad and sick?"

"No, Sherlock," John said, placing his head in his hands. "You don't understand."

"John, what are you talking about? Of course I do," Sherlock replied, shifting his position slightly, and taking a comforting hold of John's hand. "Your sister has died, and you're upset. I understand what you're feeling rightnow."

"No," John said, snatching his hand away. "No you don't, you apathetic, cruel, unfeeling man. Unlike you, the rest of this world has emotional attachments to other people."

Sherlock felt a pain he'd never felt before, somewhere in his chest. It hurt so bad it almost brought tears to his eyes.

"John," Sherlock said. "I know what it feels like to have emotional bonds with people. I have you."

"I'm just your flatmate, Sherlock," John cried, his shoulders and breath slightly faltering in their steady rhythm. "You could find another one if I left."

"But, John," Sherlock said, shifting closer. "I wouldn't find another you. There wouldn't be another war veteran from Afghanistan with a psychosomatic limp, named John Watson, who was also in search of a roommate."

John stayed silent.

"You can't stay out here depressed like this." Sherlock stood up, offering a hand. "The rest of the world is turning around you, John. And guess what? Me and you - we can outrun it."

John reluctantly accepted his hand, pulling himself off the ground. His heart was racing.

Was Sherlock moving closer, or was he imagining things?"

"Sherlock," John's voice cracked as he felt his friend's hot (and minty) breath spread across his face.

"You're blushing, John," Sherlock smiled, meeting his eyes. "And your pulse is racing."

John looked down to see their fingers still locked together.

"So?" John asked, his voice failing him.

"So, what would happen if I kissed you?" Sherlock taunted, dropping the umbrella to bring his hand up to the back of John's neck.

And, without another word, their lips were pressed firmly together, Sherlock opening and closing John's lips with his own against their will. Yet, John found himself reaching out his hand and fisting the fabric of Sherlock's jacket in between his fingers.

Without warning, Sherlock pulled away, lips slightly swollen. John leaned forward to prolong the kiss, and slumped when their lips finally parted.

"Um," John said, unconciously darting out his tongue to lick up the remains of Sherlock's kiss on his lips.

"We should... uh... go inside," Sherlock said awkwardly, pushing open the door and allowing John to step inside first, umbrella carelessly being left behind them.

As soon as Sherlock had stepped into the flat and the door was shut, he was pressed against it, John's fingers finding their way blindly to his hair and his lips pressing longingly against Sherlock's.

Sherlock didn't fight back, but rather helped John reach him by bending down slightly, wrapping his arms around the torso of the man pressed against him. They tentatively took steps together, one of John's hands leaving Sherlocks head to find the railing on the stairs. Together, they worked their way up, only breaking apart when they reached the top.

John began to lead Sherlock to his own bedroom, but Sherlock quickly pulled toward his when an image of John sweaty, panting, and wrapped up in his own sheets filled his head.

When they entered the room, their arms were back around each other, lips moving sloppily and passionately together. Sherlock couldn't think of anything more perfect in the world.

He backed him slowly toward the bed, pressing a hand to the small of his back and lowering John onto the white sheets, not breaking their touch. He brought one knee up beside one of John's hips, planting it firmly against the mattress.

His jacket had long since been torn off.

Sherlock now fumbled with the buttons on John's shirt, popping them open one by one and pushing it off his shoulders, throwing it somewhere across the room. He planted a kiss on John's lips, then the corner of his mouth, and worked his way down until they rested on his slightly toned chest. John took trips to the gym, and though they weren't often, they were still enough to give off results.

Sherlock's hands found John's and intertwined their fingers, spreading their arms out across the bed. He worked his kisses down further, stopping when he reached the top of John's belly button.

"I think this is hardly fair," John managed to breathe out. "I'm half naked and you still have on your clothes."

Wordlessly, Sherlock unlaced their hands and untied the belt on his robe. John took this as an opportunity to take control.

Sherlock was pushed back onto the bed, curly hair splaying out about his head.

John kissed him tenderly, and shoved his hands under the dark fabric of Sherlock's shirt, pushing it up with the backs of his wrists and over his head. Tossed it in the same direction Sherlock had tossed his.

While Sherlock never went to the gym, his body would tell you differenly. While he definitely didn't have an array of abdominal muscles, he was still fairly toned.

John reattached their lips, panting heavily for breath when their lips parted.

Sherlock reached up to John's belt buckle and struggled with it slightly before he pulled it free from the belt loops.

He worked on the button next, listening to the arousing sound the zipper made when he undid it. After he pushed down John's trousers, they were flung across the room.

John now straddled him, wearing nothing but a pair of clean, white pants.

John's hands, which had been upon Sherlock's face, feeling those chiseled cheek bones, began exploring uncharted land, moving down toward the lower half of Sherlock's body.

John was pleased to realize that Sherlock was still wearing his pajamas, meaning no belt. He slipped his thumbs under the waistband of Sherlock's dark lounging trousers, and pulled them down, exposing the majority of his body.

The majority of his body that John had thought about since Mycroft had stepped on Sherlock's sheet.

"John," Sherlock moaned over and over again. John's mouth was all over every square inch of Sherlock's body, kissing and licking and biting. "Please."

"Are you sure?" John mumbled against Sherlock's neck, his hot breath sending shudders down the detective's spine.

"Get them off of me," Sherlock begged, arching his back and lifting his hips up, making fabric rub against fabric. They both moaned together, John's vibrating against the bare skin of Sherlock's shoulder.

He responded almost instantaneously, ripping Sherlock's pants off and exposing his entire body. His eyes were drawn to a particular part.

The doctor's fingers drifted down, tickling the whole of Sherlock's torso, and stopping just before he touched the core of his body. "Sherlock," John breathed. "I don't know about this."

Sherlock used his moment of doubt to flip them over, so he was on top. "John Watson, I hope you know that even if you don't want to, I'll handcuff you to this bed and fuck you until the break of dawn."

John's eyes rolled back into his head, the image and pleasure of a moment as such filling his head. "Oh, please."

Sherlock almost lost it, hooking his thumbs into the fabric of John's underwear. He tore them effortlessly.

"You're buying me a new pair," John muttered against Sherlock's ear as the detective ravished his friend's neck.

"I'll buy you as many pairs as you want," Sherlock mumbled. "Just as long as I get to keep doing that."

John blushed, and dug his nails into Sherlock's back as he hit a sweet spot. They both groaned.

Both of them could feel the other growing harder as they pressed even harder together. They involuntarily thrusted toward each other.

Sherlock laid his forehead on the sheets beside John's ear and took a deep breath. "Please, John, I need to be inside you."

"Please, Sherlock," John moaned, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's locks. "Please."

Sherlock stood up, and pulled John so that his bum was right at the edge of the bed. He took himself in hand and lined up with John's entrance, slowly pushing in.

He heard John groan, but he wasn't sure whether it was in pleasure or pain.

When he was fully in, he slowly began moving, moaning lowly. John, on the other hand, was growling deep in his throat - this was frustrating. "Sherlock, move faster," he muttered, fisting the sheet on either side of him in his hands.

Sherlock obliged, snapping his hips back and forth at break neck speed. The bed shook and creaked, and their moans and cries echoed through the air. There was no doubt that people in the surrounding flats could hear them.

He pulled out, and flipped John over, pressing his chest to his friend's back, and pushed back in. His founds found John's and laced with them from behind, bringing them to rest above John's head. "Sherlock," the man underneath him moaned. "Remember your promise."

"I'll handcuff you to this bed and fuck you until the break of dawn."

Sherlock moaned at the thought. The break of dawn was too soon.

"Believe me, John, neither of us will be able to see straight when we're through."

With that, he pulled out, as he sensed himself coming close to his finish. "Get against the headboard."

John did as he was told, and pressed his back against the dark wood off the back of the bed. Sherlock crawled over to him, taking his length in hand, and began pulling and jerking and rubbing. John groaned, and reached down to tug at Sherlock's hair.

Then, he was taken into Sherlock's mouth, the detective's lips closing around his member, and sucking lightly.

Sherlock hummed against him, and the feeling sent jolts of pleasure up John's spine like lightning bolts. His fingers tangled even further into Sherlock's dark locks, tugging until he moaned around John.

Then, he worked his way back up, until his lips connected with John's lips again, so that John could taste himself off the detective's lips. They licked and sucked at each other for a while, until Sherlock felt himself ready to enter John once more.

He picked up one of the doctor's leg and flung it over his shoulder, positioning himself at the entrance to John's inside again, and pushing in with much less restraint than before. John groaned, and the sound was music to Sherlock's ears - and he should know music, he's an experienced violinist.

Neither of them had known how much in the world they had wanted this until it happened. And, now that it had, they didn't understand why they hadn't seen it sooner. Maybe John was just in denial about the whole thing; maybe Sherlock was just oblivious to the feelings he felt, as he had never really been in any sort of relationship like this.

John could feel Sherlock getting faster rather than see it, as his eyes were screwed shut in pleasure. He could hear Sherlock's heavy breathing and moans over his own, and he briefly wondered how Ms. Hudson was feeling about the strange sounds resounding from the walls of their flat.

Then, he didn't care.

He'd shout it out to the world through a bullhorn if Sherlock so wished.

And Sherlock did wish.

He wished harder for John than he had for anything else.

He pulled out and changed their position slightly, throwing both of John's legs over his shoulders. They were both moaning renditions of the other's name by now, hardly being able to process what came out of their mouths.

Through all the pleasure he was feeling, John managed to steal a glance at the bedside clock.

2:54 AM.

Had time really gone so fast?

He didn't care, Sherlock did say this was until the break of dawn, correct?

John decided to just go with the moment, and pulled Sherlock down to capture his lips and dig his finger nails into the skin on his back.

Sherlock made a move to lower himself to John's neck, and John wrapped his arms around the man on top of him - one around his neck, the other under his arm and over his neck.

Then, he could feel the movement of Sherlock's hips start to falter and become ragged.

Sherlock came inside him, planting a final kiss to John's neck before sitting up and pulling out. He was panting as he laid down beside John, pulling the blankets over both of them.

"What time is it?" he asked, his eyes closed.

"3:21 in the morning," John replied. "I feel sorry for the neighbors."

"I feel sorry that it didn't last until the break of dawn," Sherlock smiled and threw a hand behind John's head and pulling him in for a sweaty, sloppy, sweet kiss.

"John, I think it's safe to say you're the only person I've ever loved," Sherlock cooed. "And I'm sorry it took so long."

"I believe the feeling is mutual, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh, well that is elementary, dear Watson."


End file.
